


What He Swore at Manhood to Do

by HibernatingHermit



Series: The Mummy - Missing Scenes, One-Shots, and Other Pointless Drivel [9]
Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Camels - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Exhaustion, Extended Scene, Internal Monologue, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Movie ending from Ardeth’s pov, Mummies, Rescue, Resurrection, Self-Sacrifice, basically just more of my pointless drivel, mild descriptions of said violence, more Ardeth POV because apparently that’s what I do a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HibernatingHermit/pseuds/HibernatingHermit
Summary: Ardeth sacrifices himself to Imhotep’s priests.
Series: The Mummy - Missing Scenes, One-Shots, and Other Pointless Drivel [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005471
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	What He Swore at Manhood to Do

“Save the girl. Kill the creature.”

With these words, Ardeth flung himself into the midst of the creatures without thinking twice. He used the empty gun like a club, bashing one of the mummified priests in its rotten skull and sending it to the ground. But there were others. So many others. Pulling at him from every direction. He could feel their bony fingers ripping at his clothes, his skin.

He was terribly afraid. But this was what he had been born to do. Sworn at manhood to do. To protect the world from the Creature...only now there was more than one, and he had to protect the world from them, too, he supposed.

He took out another, separating its head from its body. He could scarcely breathe. The only thing louder than the horrible snarls of the creatures was the pounding of his heart.

He wrestled with one of the creatures, as another seemed to leap onto his back. Claws dug into his shoulder. He cried out, more from anger than the pain. He threw himself backwards, crushing the priest between his back and the stone wall. It fell limply to the ground.

“What are you waiting for?!” He shouted desperately out at O’Connell and Jonathan, catching one last glimpse of them. “Get out! Get out!”

They were the world’s last hope. He wrestled another of the creatures, losing sight of his companions as he became lost to the horde, slashing and punching and slamming his way through the mauling throng of undead.

It was not the dying he minded, so much as the way in which he died. Being ripped apart was not a pleasant way to go. He hoped that his impending death would not be in vain, that O’Connell and Jonathan would be able to stop the creature. That they could remedy his failure. He heard an explosion. O’Connell did love dynamite.

He shoved the creature he wrestled closer to the opposite wall and drew his sword. He sliced it up the middle and it seemed to turn to dust. Another took its place. How many more awaited his blade remained a mystery. He lost track of which way was which. He knew not how much time had passed; it seemed both an age and mere blink of an eye since he had left O’Connell and Jonathan behind.

His actions became a blur. It seemed that, whenever he chanced to hope for his survival, and despite the trail of dusty corpses he left behind, more still took their place. He was hopelessly outnumbered. He could feel his strength waning. It was hopeless. He would meet his end in this place. And, he decided, he had made his peace with it.

++

He opened his eyes to a room full of gold. With a groan he sat up. His sword was still in his now-bleeding hand, a large gash running along the back of it, cutting through his tattoo. Glancing around, he recognized the treasure room that he, O’Connell, and Jonathan had stumbled upon earlier. He knew the way from here. He could get back to them, help them defeat the Creature. But the fact that he didn’t exactly remember how he reached this room told him he shouldn’t try. He was weak now, and would prove only a burden to their efforts.

There was a distant noise from somewhere out of sight. A clinking, a clanging. He tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. More creatures? He feared he could fight no more. He dragged himself back into a shadowed nook, and waited. But no mummies came. Instead, it was that small, fidgety man who had sided with the Creature, had taken the key from Jonathan. He was muttering to himself, dragging a large sack filled with treasure behind him.

Ardeth nearly growled, wanting to stop him, perhaps even kill him. But he stayed still. Stayed hidden. Soon enough, the coward had passed him by, and Ardeth took this opportunity to clumsily leave his hiding place and stumble to his feet. He swayed, reaching out to steady himself and grasping onto some large, golden thing he couldn’t bother to identify. It was probably best left alone, anyhow.

The journey from the bowels of the city to the burning daylight above the sand was a tedious, tiring one. He kept a sharp, wary eye out as he inched along, but met with no more of the undead, nor did the gold stealing coward cross his path. He thought it was best that way.

He needed to wrap his hand, perhaps patch up his other wounds well enough to get home. But he could not leave yet. He had to know what became of the Creature, if it was defeated or not. If his failure had been remedied. If those people — people he had once fought against, people he had now become more attached to than he would care to admit — would make it out alive. He wanted to know, needed to know. And if they did die at the hands of the Creature, he, Ardeth, was the last line of defense for the world. So, if they died, the world was going to end, because what could one man do against such powerful evil?

He ripped a thin strip of fabric from his sash and began wrapping it around his hand. His mind he could not keep from wandering to Jonathan’s hand, and how he had wound the fabric of his tunic around it so carefully. He did hope Jonathan would not die. He hoped none of them would die. He sent a prayer up for the three living souls trapped beneath the sands of Hamunaptra, and continued bandaging his hand.

++

The camels were not pleased to see him. Camels were, however, very rarely pleased to see anyone, and he swore he must have picked the most stubborn camel in all of creation. He managed to avoid its wrath as he climbed onto its back.

He watched the city with apprehension from atop a sand dune, fearing what might emerge. Would it be the Creature? Or only one or two instead of three? Or none at all?

He slumped as he sat astride the camel’s back, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. And he waited.

++

The city was gone, and the Creature with it. Its evilness was no more, or so he hoped. And there, ahead of the destruction, standing among the camels, there were three, safe and sound. A smile spreading across his face, he guided the camel down the dune toward them. They had saved the world, done what he could not. He had to tell them of his gratitude, the gratitude of his people. The respect he held for them, all of them. Yes, they may have been the ones to wake the Creature from its slumber in the first place, but they had not left the world to ruin. And it was Ardeth himself who had not kept them from the Creature’s resting place. But all that mattered now was that the Creature was dead, and they were not, and the world was, for now, safe from harm.

When he reached them, they didn’t seem to notice his presence, too engrossed in the destruction of the city to pay him any mind. He leaned down, placing a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.

Jonathan screamed.

Evelyn screamed, reflexively backing into O’Connell, who looked ready to kill someone. When the pair of them realized, however, that it was only Ardeth, they sent poor Jonathan a rather seething look. Evelyn looked especially peeved at his overreaction, while Rick seemed more relieved than anything.

“Oh!” Jonathan clutched at his heart, looking frazzled and offended. “Thank you! Thank you very much!”

Ardeth was torn between amusement and concern for the Englishman. But mostly amusement. No real harm done, after all. “You have earned the respect and gratitude of my people,” he said solemnly to the three of them.

Evelyn smiled up at him graciously, still leaning into O’Connell a little. Rick gave him a serious nod of understanding and mutual respect.

“Ah well,” Jonathan said, laughing in a bit of a nervous way because he was unable to take a compliment, “it was nothing.”

A part of Ardeth wanted to linger, to perhaps journey with them to Cairo, but he thought better of it. He had things to tend to, injuries to mend. “May Allah smile upon you always,” he told them in farewell, pressing his fingers slightly to his lips before bringing them up to his forehead.

“And...” Jonathan took his hand off his heart long enough to wave it around in a vague, clumsy mimicry of Ardeth’s gesture, “...yourself.”

Ardeth valiantly fought the urge to laugh, clicked to the ever-stubborn camel, and turned away from the three. A part of him feared this would be the last time he saw them, and the idea troubled him. He had become attached to the rather odd trio. Rick O’Connell was a warrior, and was everything a warrior should be: brave, strong, and good, and Ardeth held a high respect for him. Evelyn Carnahan was intelligent and brave, a warrior in her own right, seeming without a match in a battle of wits. And then there was Jonathan. Fidgety and nervous as he appeared, he was incredibly brave and strong as well, though he himself didn’t seem to realize. And there was something about him....

Ardeth rode off across the sand, hoping, and perhaps even praying, that this would not be the last time he saw them. He just hoped they could meet under more pleasant circumstances.


End file.
